


candy paint

by brophigenia



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breathplay, COVID-19, Choking, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, M/M, Mario Kart, Quarantine and Chill, Recreational Drug Use, Teasing, it's been 87 years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: Swan gets high; Swan gets Skov.(AKA, the Skwan Quarantining-in-London fic I alluded at in my Jiang/Kavinsky Quarantine and Chill fic.)
Relationships: Skov/Swan (Raven Cycle), mentions of Jiang/Joseph Kavinsky/Prokopenko/Skov/Swan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55





	candy paint

**Author's Note:**

> My therapist says this is a healthy coping mechanism, so y'all aren't allowed to judge me lmao
> 
> Title and cut lyrics from Candy Paint by Our Lord and Savior Post Malone, AKA the only reason I'm getting through this quarantine with my sanity intact.

_ goddamn i love paper  _

_ like i’m michael scott _

_ *** _

“I don’t want to play Mario Kart.” Skov sighed, pouting and sneering all at once, skin glowing and whole body smelling like tea tree oil. He had been fretting for days over the shutdown of ‘nonessential’ businesses; his biweekly appointments with his esthetician, Preeda, had been interrupted and Skov was obsessively trying to sustain his otherworldly complexion with whatever he could ship in from Sephora and Ulta. The only reason Swan hadn’t told K and Proko and Jiang about the whole thing was Skov’s insistent threats of bodily harm if he spilled the beans. 

“C’mon babe,” Swan cajoled, taking the last drag off his joint, holding the smoke in his lungs for as long as he physically could before letting it out into a stream that Skov flapped at irritably. “You can use the good controller.” 

Skov rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I get to be Peach.” 

Skov played Mario Kart with his whole body; he spoke often and vehemently about how much he detested the game, but whenever he was convinced to play he threw his entire being into it. It was like anything else Skov did- law school, internships, soccer, fucking: he had to be the best. 

(And fuck, was he ever.) 

“You  _ motherfucker,” _ Skov swore, kicking out and catching Swan square in the ribs. “You fuckin’ blue-shelled me, you cocksucking bitch-” trying to steer out of the way of a banana in his path, Skov leaned over so far to the left that he very nearly fell off the couch. Swan pinned Skov’s offending foot between his side and his elbow, grunting as he thundered down the Rainbow Road. 

“Witness me, bitch!” He hooted, victorious, when the race ended with Skov in second place and Swan (as Bowser, of fucking course) in first. Skov, mostly upside down, was practically hissing, sounding alarmingly like Proko’s cat at bathtime. Swan still wanted to fuck him cross-eyed. 

“I  _ hate you.”  _ Skov said, petulant, again resembling Proko’s cat. 

Socks was usually less bitchy, though. 

“I know baby.” Swan soothed, and ran a fond hand up his shin, a strong thumb digging into the muscle of his calf. “Roll me one.” He nodded towards the tray on the side table, the primo weed and pink Blazy Susan rolling papers that he was honestly feeling too lazy to mess with, himself. It was always interesting to see if Skov would do what he asked— if he’d do it nice, smiling sweetly, or do it mean, prickly and sneering. 

Today was somewhere in between— Skov sniffed a little, haughty as a prince, before scooting over so he could unwrap one of the papers, sprinkle a line of weed onto it, and then roll it up tight and even, licking to seal the thing with a quick flash of tricky tongue, twisting the ends until he’d made as beautiful a joint as anyone else in the world could, probably. 

Swan rumbled happily as he stuck it between his lips, patting around the couch cushions for a lighter and coming up with a pink Bic. He could feel Skov’s eyes on him as he smoked, going more and more boneless as he inhaled, held, exhaled. “C’mere.” He directed, patting his lap, rumbling again when Skov straddled his thigh, quads so fine in his light gray sweatpants. He was just as tall as Swan, but willowy and reedy, not all bulk and languor. It made him seem smaller. It made Swan feel bigger. Skov ground down a little, showing off, shameless as anything. 

“Y’wanna FaceTime the boys?” Swan asked, putting one heavy hand on Skov’s cheek, pushing his thumb between Skov’s petal-pink lips. They were his best feature, except for all his other features. Skov shook his head, then nodded, then shook his head again, and finally just kept still so he could suck at the thumb in his mouth, intruding and thick, rubbing over the flat of his tongue, making drool start to collect at the corners of his mouth. 

“Can’t make up your mind, huh, baby?” Swan went on, in that mellow-low tone he always used when he was this stoned, eyes half-lidded and bloodshot, amused by everything. Amused especially by  _ Skov,  _ strung out and fucked out by barely anything, just a little dry-humping and some fingers in his mouth. 

Like he was some untouched virgin, when Swan knew (oh how he fuckin knew)  _ that  _ wasn’t true. 

“Swan.” He whined, and rocked his hips so he could grind down again on the thigh he was straddling, thick with muscle. “Let’s  _ fuck.” _ It was graceless- it was exactly how Swan liked Skov the best, eager and wet-mouthed and  _ his.  _

“If Proko were here he’d talk about summat flowery,” Swan said, conversational, voice only a  _ little  _ tight with his wanting. Accent thicker.  _ Posh girls love a little rough,  _ like that movie had said, and it held true for posh boys, too. There was no posher boy than Jacek Skovron, no matter that Swan himself was as rah as it was possible to be. “Like…” Swan hummed a little, thinking, and dragged his wet fingers from Skov’s mouth to wrap them around his throat, not squeezing. 

Not yet. 

“The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold.” It  _ was  _ the sort of thing Proko might say, in a moment like this. Quoting some long-dead author to express all the things he hadn’t the words to say, himself. Swan only did it to be cruel, though— to draw out these moments between riling Skov up and then taking him down, Skov insistently hard and groaning all the time. Still, the sentiment was true enough. “The curves of your lips rewrite history.” 

“I fucking  _ hate  _ you.” Skov choked out, and Swan squeezed down on the sides of his throat, watched his fair skin go redder, flush ruddy and ungainly. He liked messing Skov up. He liked taking this unaffected statue of a man and turning him into something approaching ugly but never turning the final corner, all saliva and flushed flesh and helplessly twitching limbs. 

“Don’t be like that, Duck.” Swan whispered in his ear, carelessly dropping his smoke, and pushed his free hand into Skov’s sweatpants, curling it around his gloriously-hard cock. Just the touch made Skov’s hips jump, made him whine, made his eyes roll back a little. 

Swan grinned, bit down on Skov’s left earlobe, squeezed a little harder with both hands. 

_“Swan.”_ Skov swore, in an airy voice that belied how tight Swan’s grip was. There was so much meaning in that one word. _Swan,_ Skov was saying, _you are a horrible tease and I wish you were dead._ And _Swan, if you don’t fuck me right fucking now I’ll piss on everything you love_. And, of course, Swan’s favorite, _Swan, I love you, you fucking genius, choke me until I pass out._

“I know.” He soothed, and stopped squeezing. Skov gasped in breaths, color fading from his cheeks, all the while cursing Swan and Swan’s mother and the entire United Kingdom. Swan grinned again, and slung Skov onto the couch cushions, legs and arms akimbo, making him emit a squawking sound that was just so unattractive it was possibly the hottest thing Swan had ever heard in his entire life. 

“I’m breaking up with you.” Skov moaned, miserable, though he put a hand in Swan’s hair and tugged as Swan swallowed down his cock, sweatpants around his ankles, still wearing his socks, his shirt, his fucking jumper,  _ ridiculous.  _ Swan was laughing, the vibrations making Skov’s thigh muscles jump and twitch, making Skov moan even more, tossing his head back and forth. Seasick with it, with the wrenching pleasure that came from being down around Swan’s uvula, sudden and fierce. 

Swan tongued the vein right near the base of Skov’s cock and squeezed his balls at the same time, laughing so hard he choked on Skov’s spunk when it made him convulse like he’d been electrocuted and come. Coughing as he pulled off, Swan couldn’t help but laugh, gurgling and messy himself, now. He looked around for his abandoned blunt, finding it on the floor, having burnt a bit of the carpet before sputtering out. 

“Good game, Ducky.” He patted Skov on the flank and lit up again, intent on finishing up what he’d started. Skov whimpered weakly and didn’t move more than to drag a couch cushion up over his face, blocking out the weak afternoon light streaming in through the blinds. 

Swan cued up Mario Kart again, picking Peach since Skov wasn’t playing. He’d jerk off after another round on the Rainbow Road. Possibly onto Skov’s face. 

***

_baby I'm the boss_

_like I'm tony danza_

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com  
> and on twitter @ twitter.com/brophigenia


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